St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1887-03-27


overlooking st. CroiX
lake, now ice locked, but in the summer a
huge mirror, rejecting with thousand
trembling shadows the tall hills and trown-
ing cliffs that tower alb owe it.
Here are the homes of u, 900 prosperous
souls, and here is the home of 400 men and
women who have by their own deliberate
acts buried themselves from the world for
years and many of them for life. For a
hong time the great iron gates of the peni-
tentiary have been in the habit of swinging
slowly open on their heavy hinges to admit
human beings who. by acts of violence in
moments of passion, have made of them
selves outlaws; things to be scoffed
at by the more fortunate, but many
times equally blamable members of the
commonwealth. This felonS' home, when
viewed from the outside, strikes awe to the
heart of the visitor. Its towering walls of
solid masonry seem to stare at you in grim
defiance. The narrow windows, crossed
with heavy bars of iron. seem to be silent
warriors fighting desperately against the i'll
vasion of the sunlight and the silver rays
that come down from the moon and the
stars, to
STAB TO DEATH
the damp, darkness and the solitude within.
The tall gates with heavy locks seems like
dumb watch guards standing between the
world. the skies and freedom and the COM
munity of hopeless souls within. Sitting,
as it does, within the stony arms of the two
high bluffs that inclose it OH three Sides it
looks like a vast sepulcher, and it is, to all
intentS and purposes, for when once these
gates Of iron have changed behind the con-
Wet, and the great bolt has shot into its
socket he is as much separated from the
world as he would be if locked in
the tombS of Thsbes or the casacombs of
Rome, with a newspaper thrown to him
once a week to satisfy his mental hunger.
Cities may grow. kingdoms may be de-
stroyedy nations die in the agony of war,
and yet the convict has no keener realiza-
tion of it than does the blind man who has
ever livedyfh a world without sunshine or
stars. when he is told tales Of lands of
flowers and trees and mountains and
brooks, fitted with the light of the sun and
the radiance of the moon. Such is the
home of the
400 HAPLEsS SOULS
living out dreary existence within the
stalwart walls of the Saltwater penitenti-
ary. Wherever he looks stoIid walls look
back at him and now and then he catches
a glimpse of the watchful sentry as he
PAGES up and down his granite beat armed
with rifle, rather unpleasant reminder
that the outside world has had enough of
him for q time at least.
Over this community of outlaws. four
men hold sway-three inspectors and a
warden. Within these walls their word is
law and it is seldom that the inner work
ings of these vast penal institutions are
understood by the public at large. A man
or woman has violated the law, the court
or jury has adjudged him or her guilty. the
sentence is pronounced, the prisoner is hur-
ried away, the doors of the penitentiary
rattle behind him, justice has been sated,
the people are satisfied and the convict is
forgotten. But few of the great mass of
human beings care but little for the small
fraction that live behind the iron bars of
the prisons that they have helped to build.
For twelve years the Saltwater pententiary
was controlled by one power, which was
broken two months ago and new admin
istration inaugurated which promises to be
as satisfactory to the people interested as
the precedin g one.